Early Nov. 2006 Stories
Bobbie’s Bevy of Beauties
By Friday afternoon whatever life was left in the remaining flowers was gone. Thursday night’s frosty attack did its damage. Even the beautiful dahlias and their many buds couldn’t defend themselves against the cold of that night. Within the next week or two the dahlia tubers will be dug up, placed in large aluminum pans filled with peat moss and placed in the cellar next to the calla lilies. The rose bushes will be trimmed to about 1 – 1 ½ feet. And the peat moss piled around them. The remaining perennials cut down and the annuals dug up and disposed of. What a sad looking sight the yard will be.
For about a month now, every few days Jimmy would pick his green tomatoes and put them on the kitchen counter. As they ripened, into the refrigerator drawer they would go. So that great tomato sandwich is still available to me maybe for another two weeks anyway.
Even though our cats are loved members of our family, not having our long-haired dachshund, Tahrah with us left a very big void in our household. LitlBit has come to live with Bobbie, Jimmy, Kea, Deenee and Scooch. This little guy is a mini long-haired. All our others were standard size. A mini dachshund is 10 lbs. and under. The standard any weight over 10 lbs. He has various shades of brown along with some black, is three months old and 5 ½ lbs. So beautiful and affectionate. Loves everyone including other dogs and cats. It has been many years since I’ve had to housebreak a dog. I’ve almost forgotten what the word sleep means. Considering we’ve had him for only a couple weeks, he’s doing very well. Almost hate to say that because I’m afraid I might jinx myself. Believe it or not I just did. As I wrote that statement he “wee-weed.” Have to remember LitlBit is still a baby and will have an “Accident” now and then. Doing crate training, and recommend it very highly.
My hibernation plans will have to wait for a while. Have to have some minor surgery. Once everything is squared away, I’ll return to last year’s bed under the park bench at the end of the backyard. Since I won’t be around and catching up on my lost sleep, I wish my husband luck with the rest of housebreaking and training of LitlBit. If March turns out to be a nasty month like it was this year, I’ll stay put until April.
So until spring 2007,
Flowercerly yours,
Bobbie G. Vosgien
My 22nd Birthday
By Priscilla Reynolds
Sometimes in the middle of the night I wake up knowing what has to be done. Other times I awaken knowing there is nothing I can do. Anxiety sets in and wishes become prayers.
My grandson, Chris, came home on furlough last week. We're all proud of him. He is now ranked as Lance Corporal in the US Marine Corps. He served some time in Iraq, and now is stationed at Cherry Point, North Carolina.
During dinner out at Bill's Seafood in Clinton, he and his girlfriend chatted with his family and Uncle Matt and me. He corrected me about his age, "No, Gram, I'm still 21; I'll celebrate my 22nd birthday in Iraq." Everyone at the table knew that Chris was scheduled to return to Iraq in February. I speak for myself when I say that the combination of his young age and returning to Iraq sent a shiver up my spine. I am aware that Chris is a brave young man and, I, 53 years older, pray for this war to end; for God to give us peace, and for Chris to come home.
Some of the hymns I listen to at night help. Here's one of them:
"There'll be Peace in the Valley for Me"
Well, I'm tired and so weary, but I must go on
Till the Lord comes and calls me, calls me away. Oh yes!
Well, the morning is night; the lamb is the light;
And the night is as fair as the day; Oh yes!
There will be peace in the valley for me someday.
There will be peace in the valley for me, Oh Lord I pray!
There'll be no sadness, no sorrow, My Lord,
No trouble I see
There will be peace in the valley for me--for me.
Well, the bear will be gentle; And the wolf will be tame;
And the lion shall lay down with the lamb, Oh yes!
And the beast in the wild will be led by a little child
And there'll be change, change from this creature that I am.
There will be peace in the valley for me someday.
There will be peace in the valley for me-for me.
There'll be no sadness, no sorrow, My Lord,
No trouble, no trouble I see,
There will be peace in the valley for me- for me!
My Dad, George Vumback
By Gina Maurizio
I would absolutely like to pay tribute to my dad, George Vumback. He was a WWII veteran. This was well before I was born and a different time in the world. From what I was told, my father was newly married in 1942 when he enlisted and left my mother and sister for overseas. My mom referred to herself as a war widow, and she had many girlfriends and relatives who were also young and alone with small children while their husbands were off fighting. My father was an ex-POW after being MIA (like most were at first). He was captured in Bad Orb Germany. When his camp was liberated, he weighed only 90 pounds and had pleurisy. His recovery was long as he struggled to gain his strength back. My father also received the Purple Heart because he almost lost his legs to frostbite. His limbs were never the same after that, and he was also a disabled vet. This occurred during the Battle of the Bulge. The stories he would occasionally reveal usually left us chilled and sorrowful. I always felt sad how he was starved and mistreated. I was also aware that he was lucky to come home at all because many men did not.
He was very active in veteran affairs all his life, and represented ex-POWs from Connecticut at a national convention in Colorado in 1982. His name is included in the WW II memorial in Washington D.C., and he had lobbied at the nation's capitol for veterans rights in the 1970s. He said the young ones (Vietnam veterans at the time) needed our support. At the Veterans Day ceremonies he laid the black wreath at the monuments on Broad Street .My dad placed flags on graves of soldiers and always marched in Meriden's Parades wearing his maroon and gold uniform (Ex-POW colors).
All his four children are extremely proud of the sacrifices he made for his country. He has been deceased almost 16 years now. Cancer developed on the scar tissue that remained on his lung from the pleurisy all those years before .He had always told us to take a moment of silence for all veterans on the eleventh month, on the eleventh day, and at the eleventh hour. D-Day. You will find me standing still at this time on Veterans Day. Wherever I may be, I stop. I have a feeling that wherever my two brothers and sister are that they, too, will remember. It is something we always did. A special thank you to all Veterans.
My pants…
Here’s a story that is true, I think funny, too. Normally I wouldn’t write this because I’ve always been shy until I hit my 40s. People, especially people of senior citizen age, say, When you get older, you get bolder. It’s a senior’s privilege. Ha, even though I’m of the younger senior’s age and don’t feel anything over 35, it still counts. Here goes.
Upon being new to Wallingford, most of my doctors – of all kinds - are down in the New Haven area, from where I am originally. Being of Italian and Polish descent I come from the Wooster Street (Little Italy) area. Well, little by little I’ve been getting new doctors – and one is a new dentist. Being that I take a bus, I needed an appointment after work and somewhere close to home. I found one and made an appointment. It turned out to be a very rainy day – lightning and thunder. A co-worker of mine said she would take me home. Great for me. I must also add it was very humid out. We had to walk a quarter mile to get to her car. Of course with that we were both sweaty. Upon entering her car I noticed a stain on her seat (passenger side of course) and me with white pants. I said to myself it should be all right. The stain looked as though it had been there for a while – no problem???? We go to the dentist office, and I had to do the norm – fill out all those papers. They called me in, and two people were in the room – the dentist and her assistant. The dentist asked me questions and proceeded to do her thing of drilling and filling. Between these procedures I had to keep leaning over many times to rinse out my mouth. After 20 minutes I was done. I said thank you, see you again, and left. My friend drove me home. I couldn’t wait to change my clothes. To my surprise there was this big brown spot on my white pants – you know where. It looked like I --------- my pants. My face reddened with embarrassment. I could just imagine what the dentist and her assistant thought when I kept leaning over. What a first impression I made.
Jo-Ann Buccetti, Wallingford, Ct.
He was my Dad...Fred Sunn.
By Audrey Dibbern
I'm sorry to say that my dad was killed in a horrific auto accident on the Hartford Turnpike in Yalesville on August 27th, 1965. That was before computers, so there are no pictures I can electronically send to you, but, you're right...I can speak of him and his contribution to the armed services, his country, his friends, and most of all his family.
Dad married my mom, a widow with two small daughters, and struggled financially in order for the family to survive. In the midst of the struggle, his country called him into service, so with a heavy heart he left mom to be alone again with the two small daughters she loved and cared for. Dad served his time on U.S. soil, maintaining the same American aircraft that won the war, and when it was over, he returned home to his bride and the two beautiful little girls he had come to love as his very own. The marriage thrived and the two daughters became four daughters, and the family thrived. My dad was a bright, jovial fella, loaded with personality and warmth. People were naturally drawn to him for those reasons and more. He was generous, kind, and a dreamer. He never stopped wanting more for his family, and spent his life sacrificing his own pleasures and desires in order to accommodate the needs and wants of others. His friends gathered around his soft spirit and quick wit for company and a sympathetic ear. He never failed to share what he had with others, and joyfully extended himself and his bounty to friends and neighbors alike.
Dad carried his love of God, country, family and friends to the end when he was tragically killed in an auto accident caused by irresponsible teenaged children and their drunk driving. At 17 I lost that wonderful man from my life, who taught me everything I knew. He left us with aching, heavy hearts, lonely and lost, yet proud of him, his sense of duty, and his lifelong accomplishments. He was a wonderful man. He was my Dad...Fred Sunn.
What Veteran’s Day means to me.A day for heroes who gave their lives for their country so we may remain free, and for those who fought beside them who still should be honored today. In honor of Frank J. O'Brien. Frankie left us in December 1954. He was a paratrooper with the Naval Parachute Unit, U. S. Naval Auxiliary Air Station, El Centro, California.He was killed when the parachute he was testing failed to open. He had made many parachute jumps, all involving testing of experimental equipment. The bravery and courage it took making those jumps will always be an inspiration to those who had the opportunity to serve with him and those who followed. He will never be forgotten for the work he did that hashelped others to be safe. The day we received the news about his death was horrifying to his parents and his siblings. He left us when I was just a young teenager in 1954, but he will always be in our hearts. Frank has two brothers and three sisters who still live in Meriden. His parents and brothers have left us also,but I believe they are all together in Heaven. We just want to say how very much Frankie is still missed andloved always. Thanks, Frankie, for a job well done for your part in keeping our country safe. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you to leave your family and friends and go to other parts of the world, but this is what you chose, and you were so proud to serve your country while in the Navy, and we were as proud of you also. I sit here writing about you so many years later and tears still flow for my brother. We never had a chanceto say good-bye. Then I smile remembering all the letters I wrote to you when I was so young and missing you. I just want whoever reads this article to know how much we loved him and are still missing him. Your sister Audrey and sisters Muriel and Elinor. Brothers George and Ed.
A Sister’s Tribute to her brother Sgt. Robert L. Miglierina Died October 10, 1968, in Vietnam
I'll pay a tribute to my brother my dear,But oh how I wish you were still here.The memories of you are all I have,That keeps me going along life's path.I see your smile in the depths of my mind.You were truly unique, bright, handsome and kind.You gave your life so I may live free.I can never repay what you did for me.You will always be my shining starWay up in the heavens, so very far.One day we will meet again face to face.Then we'll be together in God's heavenly place. Ruth Miglierina Petrucci
Dear Housewives – Central Connecticut’s Know it all Gals
Dear Readers,Thank you for taking the time to read our column. You are welcome to contact The People’s Press (can be anonymous) by email or fax with questions regarding: family life, budgeting, organizing, DVD or Book reviews or anything that you need an outsider’s influence. Thanks Readers!!! Your Housewives, June and FloraDear Housewives, I am a new mother of twins. I am so overwhelmed because I can't get anything done in my house. If one baby is sleeping, the other is up and vice versa. I have a lot of friends and family who offer help, but I feel strange having them wait on me while I sit there and watch. Should I let them anyway?Double trouble in MeridenJUNE: Dear double, why don't you have a cleaning party? Get all those who want to help to come over and clean and cook for you. You can order lunch for everyone (on you of course) and just relax and enjoy your babies. You won't feel awkward because there will be several people there which will take the focus off you just watching. When you are
past the difficult stage of babies, you can go out and buy everyone a small token of your appreciation. Good luck and enjoy.Flora: June, that is a terrific idea! A cleaning party is a great way to show a new Mom in your life that you care. Too many new mothers do not take the offerings from others. I wish the super mom mentality would go away. It is okay to sit with your babies to hug and feed them. You don't have to have everything in order in the home. When friends or family ask what they can do: Be Honest. Tell them that going to the grocery store, doing laundry for a few weeks, or washing the dishes would be helpful. The Cleaning party should be the new trend. Double Trouble: please let your loved ones help you. Congratulations on your babies.Dear Housewives, My son wants to be a violent looking guy for Halloween, complete with knives and a gun. I am totally against any of that sort of thing, but my husband says let him be what he wants. Should I tell him to pick something else anyway? Freddy Kruger’s mom in WallingfordFLORA: I think if you really are against it, have him select something extra special without the weaponry. If he is under 6, I say no way.JUNE: Dear Freddy's mom, you should get a grip or you will have to go out as a neurotic, obsessive-compulsive control freak for Halloween. It is just a costume that he will wear on a night that there are a thousand scary stupid costumes with daggers and guns. You do know he can see knives in your kitchen and guns on TV, right? He won't become as ax murderer because of his costume nor will he become a crazed maniac just because he looks like one while trolling for candy. There are some things to draw the line on, and this isn't one of them. ENTERTAINMENT:JUNE: Hi Flora, we rented the movie "End Game" with Cuba Gooding Junior. It was the worst movie I have seen in a while. It was a “murder the president who dunnit” kind of uh thriller? Thriller it was not, and the script was only overshadowed by the bad acting. Hey, Cuba, get a new agent because since you won the Oscar, the roles you are picking aren't good. Also, thanks, Flora, for your visit to see us and our new baby. Thanks for washing my floor. Mr. June and I realized what we need for Christmas this year: An Alice. You know, from the Brady Bunch (one of my formerly favorite shows). Alice was perfect. She wasn't really part of the family, so she had no real say or right to butt into family business. She had a room way far away from the others. She wore a uniform so everyone knew she wasn't part of the family. And, while she was a handsome woman, Mr. Brady wasn't going to be taking up with her any time soon. Alice, the perfect solution to my busy household. FLORA: Some seasonal good reads are: "The Christmas Shoes," The Christmas Blessing," and "The Christmas Hope," all by Donna Van Liere. June, it was my pleasure to help you out. How timely with this month’s first question. And yes, we all need an Alice! I, too, was a Brady Bunch fan. I also liked: The Flintstones, The Munsters, Land of the Lost, Scooby Doo, The Jetsons, and Little House on the Prairie.
A Personal Note
Hi, Andy. I never was deployed, and most of my experience was in training. Constantly training. I went to Anchorage, Alaska after the Big Earthquake, and brought supplies there. My best experience was doing volunteer work with the Tacoma Community House, helping Asian refugees to resettle in the Seattle area. I entered into the Air Force after the end of the Vietnam War. My best friend from West Haven was blown up by a land mine. His name was Aldo Doria. He was a happy-go-lucky guy. We were friends in high school. I used to lift weights with him after school at my house. He was a greenhorn from Italy. Great Kid. Grati, John DiBiase Jr.
NATURE AS A MIRROR
IVY
Glossy ivy vine,
Potted on my windowsill.
Nature brought inside.
Recently while my 11-year-old granddaughter, Ivy Ciaburri, was painting this illustration, I looked for information about the vine Ivy. We found that ‘Ivy’ is a generic name for any vine that climbs or creeps as it grows. There are different botanical names for each variety of the vine.
The leaves of the Common or English Ivy are a glossy, waxy green and have five points on each leaf. The flowers are quite inconspicuous. It clings to shady walls and sides of buildings from cottages to castles with its fine air roots. The Boston or Japanese Ivy has three points on each leaf, and it, too, often covers the shady sides of buildings. When the ivy vines entwine a tree for support, there is the possibility that as the tree grows in girth, the vine will strangle it.
The Virginia Creeper, has five leaflets, and is often mistaken for Poison Ivy that has three shiny green leaflets. The oil in the poison ivy leaves often cause itching and blisters on our skin, if we touch it. All ivies turn scarlet and brighten pathways in the fall. On our hikes through the countryside, the scarlet leaves warn us to beware, ‘Leaflets three, Let it be.’
There is also Ground Ivy, otherwise called gill-over-the-ground or Creeping Charlie. This creeping ivy has rounded leaves and purple or blue flowers. As it creeps along the ground, it sends rootlets into the soil anchoring the vine. It was imported many years ago and was made into cough syrup and ale. At one time, gardeners grew it, but today it we usually do not welcome it in our gardens.
The Bittersweet vine grows in moist areas. The tiny flowers become clusters of poisonous berries in the fall. Their green color changes to yellow, and finally opens to expose the crimson seed. The orange-red berries remain on the vine stems through the winter and are favored for winter bouquets and decorations. The twigs of the bittersweet vine produce a liquid that is used in medicine to relieve pain and treat skin diseases.
These ivy vines with varied uses and characteristics have weak and flexible stems that need support; otherwise they creep along the ground. There are times in our lives when we need support, ‘less our spirits wither, seemingly in the dust. There are many lovely blooms, such as wisteria, morning glory, honeysuckle, clematis that we admire that depend on sturdy support to reach their glory. It seems as if God has allowed all things (even us) to lack something, but, nevertheless, all things have a purpose in life that adds richness to the world.
Marines in the Mist
By Dennis Mannion
In February of 2000, I began the process of making plans for a return to Khe Sanh and in particular Hill 861. The trip was scheduled for early July 2000 and would last approximately 14 days. In April of that year, I was in church for Palm Sunday mass, and acting on a hunch, I grabbed an extra handful of blessed palm as I headed out the door to my car. At home I cut off the flimsy ends of the palm and what I had left were rigid pieces of palm about 20 inches long. I cut those strips into pieces about 3 inches in length. I then used a magic marker to write in the names of 28 Marines and corpsman [who I personally knew who had died in Vietnam] with one name on each piece. In addition I wrote down the date of their deaths. I wrapped all 28 sections of palm in a plastic bag and included them with my gear for the trip.
The trip(s) up to 861 took place over a 3-day period and for the rest of this report, I’ll use Day 1, Day 2, and Day 3. The main focus of this paper is Day 3, but I need to cover the first two days as well.
Day 1 – up early for the departure to 861. We rode out past the old combat base in our rented van. Passengers – other than me - included KS vets Paul Knight (861) and his son Todd, Bob Arrotta (881s), Glenn Prentice (881s), Dave Kniess (my former student), Donna Elliott (searching for info on her MIA brother), and our Vietnamese translator. We stopped the van at a point where the trail to 861 looked promising. It seemed to be in the very area that Kilo had used back on December 26, 1967, to go to 861. We headed out under scattered clouds and spitting rain. It took almost four hours for the lead group (Glenn, Bob, Dave, and I) to get onto 861. The stragglers arrived within an hour of that, so that by noon all of us were on the hill. We pitched three tents near the old CP bunker, but the wind picked up and the rain really began to pelt us. I paid little attention to the weather as I had no trouble finding my old bunker! I spent over an hour cutting all the fresh growth away so I could expose the actual hole I lived in 33 years before. By mid-aft one of the tents had collapsed, one was leaking badly (my 20-year-old, two-man backpacking tent), and there was nothing to see or do. Half the group left for a return to the old combat base area and our primitive, government owned “guest house.” Dave, fearing for his very expensive video camera was one of those who left. I stayed, along with Bob and Glenn and our interpreter. The 4 of us spent a miserable night in a tent that really was designed for 2 or 3 at the most!
Day 2 In the morning of Day2, the weather was worse. The winds were a constant 50 to 60 mph and the cold rain was driven sideways across the top of the hill. Literally, one could not see beyond 15 feet. Leaving some food and supplies in the tent, we traced our steps back down to KS ville and arrived by noon. We were arrested for being on the hills without a permit and for camping overnight (a big No-No there), and the police took our passports! They said that we would have to pick them up in the late afternoon of day 3 in Dong Ha (26 miles away). After some discussions with the local cops, Bob and Glenn got permission to try to get to 881s on the morning of Day 3. He agreed to let them go if they signed the proper forms. [Our original intent was to sleep on 861 and then travel on foot over to 881s, sleep there, and then return to the village on the morning of Day 3.] I spoke up and asked for permission to go back to 861 in order to retrieve our one good tent. Forms were signed for Dave and me, and that night we packed up for a second return to 861.
Day3 Dave and I awoke at around 3:30 a.m. We had made arrangements for two local kids to give us rides on their motorbikes back to the spot where the trail to 861 left the old combat base road. It was raining fairly well but the wind had died down. In the dark, I lost track of Dave’s driver and their bike. 10 minutes later, I was at the trail junction but without Dave. [What I did not know (and would not know till late in the afternoon), was that Dave’s driver had stopped for gas, and Dave, sensing that the rain would be bad for his camera, directed the kid back to the guest house.] I waited for 15 minutes, paid the kid a dollar, strapped on my pack and turned for 861 alone. I had no trouble getting up there; in fact, with less weight and no tent to lug, it took just over three hours. I stopped only once – by a large tree on Hill 700 – for water and a granola bar. In some places, I could see the tracks and boot prints made by us going up 48 hours earlier and by some of us coming back down just 24 hours earlier. By 7:30 in the morning, I was on the LZ of 861 and I was totally alone! Amazingly, the rain stopped, and while the sun never came out, it was easy to see over to the other ridgelines. For the next 4 hours it was just me, the mist, the memories, and the history of the hill. I felt awfully privileged to be walking around a place of so much pain, blood, and sacrifice. The only sound to break the silence was an occasional bird chirp and my talking aloud. I walked the entire trench line, visited my old bunker again (where I had cut down all the vegetation two days earlier), and dug a bit in the dirt. I found an old C-rat spoon, some barbed wire, part of a USMC flak jacket, and the fin assembly of an NVA 82 mortar. I knew that I had to be off the hill by noontime because the van was going to leave KS (for Dong Ha) by 3:00 p.m., so when it was time to go, I thought of the blessed palms in my pocket. I lugged my gear (and the “new” stuff from the hill) down to the LZ. I returned to the top of the hill, and right between my bunker and the old CP bunker, I took out the palms. Speaking at the top of my voice, I said an Our Father and a Hail Mary. Then, one palm at a time, I read the name aloud and said, “May God have mercy on your soul.” As I let each piece go, the breeze caught them and sent them in various directions. After 28 names (and a few tears on my part), I returned to the LZ. As I bent over my pack to tighten things up for travel, I looked back to the top of the hill. I was stunned to see a group of figures – 15 to 20 – standing in a loose formation/group at the top of the hill. They had helmets and flak jackets and the wind moved their clothing and the ponchos that some of them were wearing! I blinked, looked away, looked back, and they were still there looking down at me. I started to cry and in a loud voice, I asked them to watch over my family and all my friends. No matter how many times I looked away, they continued to stand and look down. Finally, I picked up my pack, saluted the entire group, turned my back to them, crossed the LZ, and dropped off into the elephant grass below. I never looked back again.
Six years later: it has been over 4 years since that moment and I have not been the same person since. ( Dennis Mannion - Sept, 2004 )
Rosie the Riveter: A Brief Look at Women’s Roles in WWII
By C.S. Purcell
“This is not a time when women should be patient. We are in a war and we need to fight it with all our ability and every weapon possible.” - Eleanor Roosevelt, 1942
When you open the door to my library, you see the reproduction wartime posters of “Rosie the Riveter” and a Navy recruitment poster with a young girl in a sailor’s suit, saying, “Gee, I wish I were a man. I’d join the Navy.” I use these posters to deliberately set the tone of my room, of my attitude, because it is a place where I read, write and create. Rosie was strong, yet beautiful. The girl in the Navy poster wanted to be like her big brother who went forth proudly to serve. The women who served in wartime, in one way or another, have made it possible for my voice to be heard – and to be taken seriously.
We can think of women’s roles in many different wars, but World War II has a place in my heart. It was a time when our country overtly called for women to step forward and help this nation. And they did.
Before the United States entered World War II, several companies already had contracts with the government to produce war equipment for the Allies. Almost overnight the United States entered the war and war production had to increase dramatically in a short amount of time. Auto factories were converted to build airplanes, shipyards were expanded, and new factories were built, and all these facilities needed workers. But as companies were signing large, lucrative contracts with the government, our American men were leaving for war.
Who would fill their place? Women.
We know that women have always worked, especially minority and lower-class women. But the mindset of the country at the time placed white middle-class women in the home and men in the workforce. Even most women saw their place at home, caring for the children and tending to their husbands. Employers were used to men in their factories.
The United States government had to overcome these challenges in order to recruit women into the workforce. The government decided to launch a propaganda campaign to sell the importance of the war effort and to lure women into working. In this propaganda effort, Rosie the Riveter was born. She flexed her muscles and exclaimed, “We Can Do It!”
Millions of American women helped assemble bombs, build tanks, weld hulls and grease locomotives. More than 6 million women became war workers. Most were married and a third had children under 14. A popular song of the day praised "Rosie the Riveter" in verse: "That little frail can do/more than a male can do."
Money during the war was tight in many households, and the women, by working, had the opportunity to make wages. But on average, women war workers were paid only 60 percent of male wages. Many faced harassment and were judged by prevailing social attitudes.
While the image of the woman worker was important during the war, the prewar image of women as wives and mothers did not disappear. Mainstream society accepted temporary changes brought about by a war, but considered them undesirable on a permanent basis. Indeed, you cannot take the jobs permanently away from the men who were called to duty, although so many men never returned home. After the war, the cultural division of labor by sex reasserted itself. Employers forced many women who wanted to remain in the workforce back into lower-paying “female” jobs. Most women were laid off and told to go back to their homes.
To appease those opposed to women in the workforce, the government insisted that "Rosie the Riveter" was a temporary response to war. "A woman is a substitute," claimed a War Department brochure, "like plastic instead of metal."
Other homefront wartime jobs for women included recruiting, typing, and selling war bonds.
Although the famous image of Rosie the Riveter reminds us of women working here on American soil, women also joined the military, helping with a number of positions, including nursing, chemical lab assistants, photographic lab assistants, radio repair, cartography, modelmakers, field photographers… The military had developed its own propaganda posters for recruiting women. The Women’s Army Corps’ message was, "Woman’s place in war! The Army of the United States has 239 kinds of jobs for women."
And we can’t forget The Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) of World War Two, 1942-1944, who paved the way for women in the Airforce and other armed services. During World War II 1,078 young women pilots became an inspiration to women – to Americans. They were the first women in history trained to fly American military aircraft.
It was a big deal - women coming into the workforce in droves to fill the gaps left by enlisted or recruited male soldiers and women serving the armed forces in WWII. Today it is not unusual. Women enlist in the armed forces, are deployed to the warfront with men, and, yes, work in the factories that produce military equipment.
Whenever I look at my wartime reproduction posters, I think of how far we have come. We don’t need Rosie to remind women that “We can do it!” I laugh when I see the young girl pulling on her Navy suit, wishing she were a man. The Navy used a young girl to tell those not yet enlisted to “be a man.” Now, the Navy calls upon men and women alike. In the modern-day armed forces’ propaganda of TV commercials, there are women. In the news, we hear of our men and women who serve in Operation Enduring Freedom.
Women are no longer considered mere replacements. We are not plastic. We are part of the fabric – one stronger than metal – that holds this country together.
A Letter Home
Jan 18, 1944
Dear Brother,
Longtime for me to finally get around to expressing my appreciation for the Christmas packages, but believe me, it isn’t because I have already enjoyed them or that I haven’t been thinking and thanking you, but oh boy, you know how it is when you get into a writing slump.
Although I had a swell holiday and we had turkey and 2 cases of beer, the season kinda got me down a bit and as is the case with all here, the correspondence suffered. Now we seem to be back to normal and I am going to get on the ball and try to let people know how much I enjoyed everything.
19th
Well, I start lots of things around here, but also have plenty questions to answer, so that accounts for the many interruptions. It is now 3:30 and the gang is on fatigue, fixing paths, cutting brush, etc. Spent the morning on the range trying out new firing stunts with our mortars and they work swell and didn’t even get a sore hand. So we will go to work on it hammer and tongs, so that next time we’ll be able to throw everything but the sink at them before they know what’s happening.
The weather has been quite a bit cooler – when you sit in the shade, but probably because of so much rain. It hasn’t rained today yet and didn’t rain all last nite. First time in a couple weeks, and my blankets smell like toad stools – so must get those aired out. Tojo hasn’t bothered us with bombings but twice in a month, but not good definitely - but I can still tell when they’re coming close, so that’s all that counts.
A few more days till my birthday and believe me I am getting along. Sometimes feel as old as I am, but still can muck along with the rest of them. Have also been executive of the Battalion for quite a time and supposed to serve in this capacity for 3 months, before getting an advance to field grade. Hope by that time to get to New Zealand for a rest before the next bugle. I can sure stand putting an a few pounds so that I don’t rattle. This place is sure changed – Hope I can get some pictures of it and send them home. Flossy should receive a few that might be of interest.
Well must close and get to work for awhile. Thanks again for the packages and for remembering us.
Hope you are all well.
Love to all,
Don
Major Donald T. Robison served as Meriden’s Park Superintendent from 1938 until 1941 when the Connecticut National Guard in which he served as a second lieutenant was inducted into the war. Upon entering the Army he was promoted to first lieutenant and about a year later to Captain and placed in command of Company D from Meriden. He reached the rank of Major about two months after writing the letter transcribed above. On August 7th of the same year, the 34-year-old major was seriously wounded in action in New Guinea. He died six days later. A small monument is located at Hubbard Park honoring Major Robison’s service to Meriden and his ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.
Military Funeral Honors "Honoring Those Who Served"
The Department of Defense (DOD) is responsible for providing military funeral honors. "Honoring Those Who Served” is the title of the DOD program for providing dignified military funeral honors to veterans who have defended our nation.
Upon the family's request, Public Law 106-65 requires that every eligible veteran receive a military funeral honors ceremony, to include folding and presenting the United States burial flag and the playing of Taps. The law defines a military funeral honors detail as consisting of two or more uniformed military persons, with at least one being a member of the veteran's parent service of the armed forces. The DOD program calls for funeral home directors to request military funeral honors on behalf of the veterans' family. However, the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) National Cemetery Administration cemetery staff can also assist with arranging military funeral honors at VA national cemeteries. Veterans’ organizations may assist in providing military funeral honors. When military funeral honors at a national cemetery are desired, they are arranged prior to the committal service by the funeral home.
The Department of Defense began the implementation plan for providing military funeral honors for eligible veterans as enacted in Section 578 of Public Law 106-65 of the National Defense Authorization Act for FY 2000 on Jan. 1, 2000.
Questions or comments concerning the DOD military funeral honors program may be sent to the address listed below. The military funeral honors Web site is located at www.militaryfuneralhonors.osd.mil
Department of DefenseDirectorate for Public Inquiry and AnalysisRoom 3A750, The PentagonWashington, DC 20301-1400
To arrange military funeral honors, contact your local funeral home.
Burial Benefits – Burial Flags
Why does VA provide a Burial Flag?
The Veterans Benefits Administration (VBA) provides a U.S. flag at no cost, to drape the casket or accompany the urn of a deceased veteran who served honorably in the U. S. armed forces. It is furnished to honor the memory of a veteran’s military service to his or her country. Section 517 of Public Law 105-261 added eligibility for former members of the Selected Reserve.
Who is eligible to receive the Burial Flag?
Generally, the flag is given to the next-of-kin as a keepsake after its use during the funeral service. When there is no next-of-kin, VA will furnish the flag to a friend making a request for it. For those VA national cemeteries with an Avenue of Flags, families or friends of veterans buried in these national cemeteries may donate the burial flags of their loved ones to be flown on patriotic holidays.
How do I apply?
You may apply for the flag by completing VA Form 21-2008, Application for United States Flag for Burial Purposes . You may get a flag at any VA regional office or U.S. Post Office. Generally, the funeral director will help you. . When burial is in a national, state or military post cemetery a burial flag will be provided. To contact the VA regional office, call 1-800-827-1000.
Can a Burial Flag be replaced?
The law allows one flag for a veteran’s funeral. It cannot be replaced it if it is lost, destroyed, or stolen. However, some veterans’ organizations or other community groups may be able to help you get another flag.
How should the Burial Flag be displayed?
The proper way to display the flag depends upon whether the casket is open or closed. VA Form 21-2008 provides the correct method for displaying and folding the flag. The burial flag is not suitable for outside display because of its size and fabric. It is made of cotton and can easily be damaged by weather.
For More Information Call Toll-Free at 1-800-827-1000
Presidential Memorial Certificate
A Presidential Memorial Certificate (PMC) is an engraved paper certificate, signed by the current President, to honor the memory of honorably discharged deceased veterans.
History
This program was initiated in March 1962 by President John F. Kennedy and has been continued by all subsequent Presidents. Statutory authority for the program is Section 112, Title 38, of the United States Code.
Administration
The Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) administers the PMC program by preparing the certificates which bear the current President’s signature expressing the country’s grateful recognition of the veteran’s service in the United States Armed Forces.
Eligibility
Eligible recipients include the deceased veteran’s next-of-kin and loved ones. More than one certificate may be provided.
Application
Eligible recipients, or someone acting on their behalf, may apply for a PMC in person at any VA regional office or by U.S. mail only. Requests cannot be sent via email. There is no form to use when requesting a PMC. Please be sure to enclose a copy of the veteran's discharge and death certificate. Please submit copies only, as we cannot return original documents.
If you would like to request a Presidential Memorial Certificate, or if you requested one more than eight weeks ago and have not received it yet, either:
1. Fax your request and all supporting documents (copy of discharge and death certificate) to: (202) 565-8054, or
2. Mail your request and all supporting documents using either the U.S. Postal Service or a commercial mail service, such as one of the overnight or express mail delivery services, to:
Presidential Memorial Certificates (41A1C)Department of Veterans Affairs5109 Russell RoadQuantico, VA 22134-3903
If you have any questions about a certificate you have received, a request you have already sent in, or about the program in general, you may call (202) 565-4964. Or you may send an electronic inquiry to us by selecting the “Contact the VA” link below.
PLEASE NOTE: The above telephone number is for questions about the Presidential Memorial Certificate Program only.
Veteran Service Officers and Funeral Homes - Please contact us at (202) 565-4259 or (202) 501-2004 for information about submitting requests electronically.
We do not administer other VA programs or have access to other VA records. For assistance with other VA benefits or records please use the “Contact the VA” link below. Or call your regional office at:
1-800-827-1000
By Friday afternoon whatever life was left in the remaining flowers was gone. Thursday night’s frosty attack did its damage. Even the beautiful dahlias and their many buds couldn’t defend themselves against the cold of that night. Within the next week or two the dahlia tubers will be dug up, placed in large aluminum pans filled with peat moss and placed in the cellar next to the calla lilies. The rose bushes will be trimmed to about 1 – 1 ½ feet. And the peat moss piled around them. The remaining perennials cut down and the annuals dug up and disposed of. What a sad looking sight the yard will be.
For about a month now, every few days Jimmy would pick his green tomatoes and put them on the kitchen counter. As they ripened, into the refrigerator drawer they would go. So that great tomato sandwich is still available to me maybe for another two weeks anyway.
Even though our cats are loved members of our family, not having our long-haired dachshund, Tahrah with us left a very big void in our household. LitlBit has come to live with Bobbie, Jimmy, Kea, Deenee and Scooch. This little guy is a mini long-haired. All our others were standard size. A mini dachshund is 10 lbs. and under. The standard any weight over 10 lbs. He has various shades of brown along with some black, is three months old and 5 ½ lbs. So beautiful and affectionate. Loves everyone including other dogs and cats. It has been many years since I’ve had to housebreak a dog. I’ve almost forgotten what the word sleep means. Considering we’ve had him for only a couple weeks, he’s doing very well. Almost hate to say that because I’m afraid I might jinx myself. Believe it or not I just did. As I wrote that statement he “wee-weed.” Have to remember LitlBit is still a baby and will have an “Accident” now and then. Doing crate training, and recommend it very highly.
My hibernation plans will have to wait for a while. Have to have some minor surgery. Once everything is squared away, I’ll return to last year’s bed under the park bench at the end of the backyard. Since I won’t be around and catching up on my lost sleep, I wish my husband luck with the rest of housebreaking and training of LitlBit. If March turns out to be a nasty month like it was this year, I’ll stay put until April.
So until spring 2007,
Flowercerly yours,
Bobbie G. Vosgien
My 22nd Birthday
By Priscilla Reynolds
Sometimes in the middle of the night I wake up knowing what has to be done. Other times I awaken knowing there is nothing I can do. Anxiety sets in and wishes become prayers.
My grandson, Chris, came home on furlough last week. We're all proud of him. He is now ranked as Lance Corporal in the US Marine Corps. He served some time in Iraq, and now is stationed at Cherry Point, North Carolina.
During dinner out at Bill's Seafood in Clinton, he and his girlfriend chatted with his family and Uncle Matt and me. He corrected me about his age, "No, Gram, I'm still 21; I'll celebrate my 22nd birthday in Iraq." Everyone at the table knew that Chris was scheduled to return to Iraq in February. I speak for myself when I say that the combination of his young age and returning to Iraq sent a shiver up my spine. I am aware that Chris is a brave young man and, I, 53 years older, pray for this war to end; for God to give us peace, and for Chris to come home.
Some of the hymns I listen to at night help. Here's one of them:
"There'll be Peace in the Valley for Me"
Well, I'm tired and so weary, but I must go on
Till the Lord comes and calls me, calls me away. Oh yes!
Well, the morning is night; the lamb is the light;
And the night is as fair as the day; Oh yes!
There will be peace in the valley for me someday.
There will be peace in the valley for me, Oh Lord I pray!
There'll be no sadness, no sorrow, My Lord,
No trouble I see
There will be peace in the valley for me--for me.
Well, the bear will be gentle; And the wolf will be tame;
And the lion shall lay down with the lamb, Oh yes!
And the beast in the wild will be led by a little child
And there'll be change, change from this creature that I am.
There will be peace in the valley for me someday.
There will be peace in the valley for me-for me.
There'll be no sadness, no sorrow, My Lord,
No trouble, no trouble I see,
There will be peace in the valley for me- for me!
My Dad, George Vumback
By Gina Maurizio
I would absolutely like to pay tribute to my dad, George Vumback. He was a WWII veteran. This was well before I was born and a different time in the world. From what I was told, my father was newly married in 1942 when he enlisted and left my mother and sister for overseas. My mom referred to herself as a war widow, and she had many girlfriends and relatives who were also young and alone with small children while their husbands were off fighting. My father was an ex-POW after being MIA (like most were at first). He was captured in Bad Orb Germany. When his camp was liberated, he weighed only 90 pounds and had pleurisy. His recovery was long as he struggled to gain his strength back. My father also received the Purple Heart because he almost lost his legs to frostbite. His limbs were never the same after that, and he was also a disabled vet. This occurred during the Battle of the Bulge. The stories he would occasionally reveal usually left us chilled and sorrowful. I always felt sad how he was starved and mistreated. I was also aware that he was lucky to come home at all because many men did not.
He was very active in veteran affairs all his life, and represented ex-POWs from Connecticut at a national convention in Colorado in 1982. His name is included in the WW II memorial in Washington D.C., and he had lobbied at the nation's capitol for veterans rights in the 1970s. He said the young ones (Vietnam veterans at the time) needed our support. At the Veterans Day ceremonies he laid the black wreath at the monuments on Broad Street .My dad placed flags on graves of soldiers and always marched in Meriden's Parades wearing his maroon and gold uniform (Ex-POW colors).
All his four children are extremely proud of the sacrifices he made for his country. He has been deceased almost 16 years now. Cancer developed on the scar tissue that remained on his lung from the pleurisy all those years before .He had always told us to take a moment of silence for all veterans on the eleventh month, on the eleventh day, and at the eleventh hour. D-Day. You will find me standing still at this time on Veterans Day. Wherever I may be, I stop. I have a feeling that wherever my two brothers and sister are that they, too, will remember. It is something we always did. A special thank you to all Veterans.
My pants…
Here’s a story that is true, I think funny, too. Normally I wouldn’t write this because I’ve always been shy until I hit my 40s. People, especially people of senior citizen age, say, When you get older, you get bolder. It’s a senior’s privilege. Ha, even though I’m of the younger senior’s age and don’t feel anything over 35, it still counts. Here goes.
Upon being new to Wallingford, most of my doctors – of all kinds - are down in the New Haven area, from where I am originally. Being of Italian and Polish descent I come from the Wooster Street (Little Italy) area. Well, little by little I’ve been getting new doctors – and one is a new dentist. Being that I take a bus, I needed an appointment after work and somewhere close to home. I found one and made an appointment. It turned out to be a very rainy day – lightning and thunder. A co-worker of mine said she would take me home. Great for me. I must also add it was very humid out. We had to walk a quarter mile to get to her car. Of course with that we were both sweaty. Upon entering her car I noticed a stain on her seat (passenger side of course) and me with white pants. I said to myself it should be all right. The stain looked as though it had been there for a while – no problem???? We go to the dentist office, and I had to do the norm – fill out all those papers. They called me in, and two people were in the room – the dentist and her assistant. The dentist asked me questions and proceeded to do her thing of drilling and filling. Between these procedures I had to keep leaning over many times to rinse out my mouth. After 20 minutes I was done. I said thank you, see you again, and left. My friend drove me home. I couldn’t wait to change my clothes. To my surprise there was this big brown spot on my white pants – you know where. It looked like I --------- my pants. My face reddened with embarrassment. I could just imagine what the dentist and her assistant thought when I kept leaning over. What a first impression I made.
Jo-Ann Buccetti, Wallingford, Ct.
He was my Dad...Fred Sunn.
By Audrey Dibbern
I'm sorry to say that my dad was killed in a horrific auto accident on the Hartford Turnpike in Yalesville on August 27th, 1965. That was before computers, so there are no pictures I can electronically send to you, but, you're right...I can speak of him and his contribution to the armed services, his country, his friends, and most of all his family.
Dad married my mom, a widow with two small daughters, and struggled financially in order for the family to survive. In the midst of the struggle, his country called him into service, so with a heavy heart he left mom to be alone again with the two small daughters she loved and cared for. Dad served his time on U.S. soil, maintaining the same American aircraft that won the war, and when it was over, he returned home to his bride and the two beautiful little girls he had come to love as his very own. The marriage thrived and the two daughters became four daughters, and the family thrived. My dad was a bright, jovial fella, loaded with personality and warmth. People were naturally drawn to him for those reasons and more. He was generous, kind, and a dreamer. He never stopped wanting more for his family, and spent his life sacrificing his own pleasures and desires in order to accommodate the needs and wants of others. His friends gathered around his soft spirit and quick wit for company and a sympathetic ear. He never failed to share what he had with others, and joyfully extended himself and his bounty to friends and neighbors alike.
Dad carried his love of God, country, family and friends to the end when he was tragically killed in an auto accident caused by irresponsible teenaged children and their drunk driving. At 17 I lost that wonderful man from my life, who taught me everything I knew. He left us with aching, heavy hearts, lonely and lost, yet proud of him, his sense of duty, and his lifelong accomplishments. He was a wonderful man. He was my Dad...Fred Sunn.
What Veteran’s Day means to me.A day for heroes who gave their lives for their country so we may remain free, and for those who fought beside them who still should be honored today. In honor of Frank J. O'Brien. Frankie left us in December 1954. He was a paratrooper with the Naval Parachute Unit, U. S. Naval Auxiliary Air Station, El Centro, California.He was killed when the parachute he was testing failed to open. He had made many parachute jumps, all involving testing of experimental equipment. The bravery and courage it took making those jumps will always be an inspiration to those who had the opportunity to serve with him and those who followed. He will never be forgotten for the work he did that hashelped others to be safe. The day we received the news about his death was horrifying to his parents and his siblings. He left us when I was just a young teenager in 1954, but he will always be in our hearts. Frank has two brothers and three sisters who still live in Meriden. His parents and brothers have left us also,but I believe they are all together in Heaven. We just want to say how very much Frankie is still missed andloved always. Thanks, Frankie, for a job well done for your part in keeping our country safe. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you to leave your family and friends and go to other parts of the world, but this is what you chose, and you were so proud to serve your country while in the Navy, and we were as proud of you also. I sit here writing about you so many years later and tears still flow for my brother. We never had a chanceto say good-bye. Then I smile remembering all the letters I wrote to you when I was so young and missing you. I just want whoever reads this article to know how much we loved him and are still missing him. Your sister Audrey and sisters Muriel and Elinor. Brothers George and Ed.
A Sister’s Tribute to her brother Sgt. Robert L. Miglierina Died October 10, 1968, in Vietnam
I'll pay a tribute to my brother my dear,But oh how I wish you were still here.The memories of you are all I have,That keeps me going along life's path.I see your smile in the depths of my mind.You were truly unique, bright, handsome and kind.You gave your life so I may live free.I can never repay what you did for me.You will always be my shining starWay up in the heavens, so very far.One day we will meet again face to face.Then we'll be together in God's heavenly place. Ruth Miglierina Petrucci
Dear Housewives – Central Connecticut’s Know it all Gals
Dear Readers,Thank you for taking the time to read our column. You are welcome to contact The People’s Press (can be anonymous) by email or fax with questions regarding: family life, budgeting, organizing, DVD or Book reviews or anything that you need an outsider’s influence. Thanks Readers!!! Your Housewives, June and FloraDear Housewives, I am a new mother of twins. I am so overwhelmed because I can't get anything done in my house. If one baby is sleeping, the other is up and vice versa. I have a lot of friends and family who offer help, but I feel strange having them wait on me while I sit there and watch. Should I let them anyway?Double trouble in MeridenJUNE: Dear double, why don't you have a cleaning party? Get all those who want to help to come over and clean and cook for you. You can order lunch for everyone (on you of course) and just relax and enjoy your babies. You won't feel awkward because there will be several people there which will take the focus off you just watching. When you are
past the difficult stage of babies, you can go out and buy everyone a small token of your appreciation. Good luck and enjoy.Flora: June, that is a terrific idea! A cleaning party is a great way to show a new Mom in your life that you care. Too many new mothers do not take the offerings from others. I wish the super mom mentality would go away. It is okay to sit with your babies to hug and feed them. You don't have to have everything in order in the home. When friends or family ask what they can do: Be Honest. Tell them that going to the grocery store, doing laundry for a few weeks, or washing the dishes would be helpful. The Cleaning party should be the new trend. Double Trouble: please let your loved ones help you. Congratulations on your babies.Dear Housewives, My son wants to be a violent looking guy for Halloween, complete with knives and a gun. I am totally against any of that sort of thing, but my husband says let him be what he wants. Should I tell him to pick something else anyway? Freddy Kruger’s mom in WallingfordFLORA: I think if you really are against it, have him select something extra special without the weaponry. If he is under 6, I say no way.JUNE: Dear Freddy's mom, you should get a grip or you will have to go out as a neurotic, obsessive-compulsive control freak for Halloween. It is just a costume that he will wear on a night that there are a thousand scary stupid costumes with daggers and guns. You do know he can see knives in your kitchen and guns on TV, right? He won't become as ax murderer because of his costume nor will he become a crazed maniac just because he looks like one while trolling for candy. There are some things to draw the line on, and this isn't one of them. ENTERTAINMENT:JUNE: Hi Flora, we rented the movie "End Game" with Cuba Gooding Junior. It was the worst movie I have seen in a while. It was a “murder the president who dunnit” kind of uh thriller? Thriller it was not, and the script was only overshadowed by the bad acting. Hey, Cuba, get a new agent because since you won the Oscar, the roles you are picking aren't good. Also, thanks, Flora, for your visit to see us and our new baby. Thanks for washing my floor. Mr. June and I realized what we need for Christmas this year: An Alice. You know, from the Brady Bunch (one of my formerly favorite shows). Alice was perfect. She wasn't really part of the family, so she had no real say or right to butt into family business. She had a room way far away from the others. She wore a uniform so everyone knew she wasn't part of the family. And, while she was a handsome woman, Mr. Brady wasn't going to be taking up with her any time soon. Alice, the perfect solution to my busy household. FLORA: Some seasonal good reads are: "The Christmas Shoes," The Christmas Blessing," and "The Christmas Hope," all by Donna Van Liere. June, it was my pleasure to help you out. How timely with this month’s first question. And yes, we all need an Alice! I, too, was a Brady Bunch fan. I also liked: The Flintstones, The Munsters, Land of the Lost, Scooby Doo, The Jetsons, and Little House on the Prairie.
A Personal Note
Hi, Andy. I never was deployed, and most of my experience was in training. Constantly training. I went to Anchorage, Alaska after the Big Earthquake, and brought supplies there. My best experience was doing volunteer work with the Tacoma Community House, helping Asian refugees to resettle in the Seattle area. I entered into the Air Force after the end of the Vietnam War. My best friend from West Haven was blown up by a land mine. His name was Aldo Doria. He was a happy-go-lucky guy. We were friends in high school. I used to lift weights with him after school at my house. He was a greenhorn from Italy. Great Kid. Grati, John DiBiase Jr.
NATURE AS A MIRROR
IVY
Glossy ivy vine,
Potted on my windowsill.
Nature brought inside.
Recently while my 11-year-old granddaughter, Ivy Ciaburri, was painting this illustration, I looked for information about the vine Ivy. We found that ‘Ivy’ is a generic name for any vine that climbs or creeps as it grows. There are different botanical names for each variety of the vine.
The leaves of the Common or English Ivy are a glossy, waxy green and have five points on each leaf. The flowers are quite inconspicuous. It clings to shady walls and sides of buildings from cottages to castles with its fine air roots. The Boston or Japanese Ivy has three points on each leaf, and it, too, often covers the shady sides of buildings. When the ivy vines entwine a tree for support, there is the possibility that as the tree grows in girth, the vine will strangle it.
The Virginia Creeper, has five leaflets, and is often mistaken for Poison Ivy that has three shiny green leaflets. The oil in the poison ivy leaves often cause itching and blisters on our skin, if we touch it. All ivies turn scarlet and brighten pathways in the fall. On our hikes through the countryside, the scarlet leaves warn us to beware, ‘Leaflets three, Let it be.’
There is also Ground Ivy, otherwise called gill-over-the-ground or Creeping Charlie. This creeping ivy has rounded leaves and purple or blue flowers. As it creeps along the ground, it sends rootlets into the soil anchoring the vine. It was imported many years ago and was made into cough syrup and ale. At one time, gardeners grew it, but today it we usually do not welcome it in our gardens.
The Bittersweet vine grows in moist areas. The tiny flowers become clusters of poisonous berries in the fall. Their green color changes to yellow, and finally opens to expose the crimson seed. The orange-red berries remain on the vine stems through the winter and are favored for winter bouquets and decorations. The twigs of the bittersweet vine produce a liquid that is used in medicine to relieve pain and treat skin diseases.
These ivy vines with varied uses and characteristics have weak and flexible stems that need support; otherwise they creep along the ground. There are times in our lives when we need support, ‘less our spirits wither, seemingly in the dust. There are many lovely blooms, such as wisteria, morning glory, honeysuckle, clematis that we admire that depend on sturdy support to reach their glory. It seems as if God has allowed all things (even us) to lack something, but, nevertheless, all things have a purpose in life that adds richness to the world.
Marines in the Mist
By Dennis Mannion
In February of 2000, I began the process of making plans for a return to Khe Sanh and in particular Hill 861. The trip was scheduled for early July 2000 and would last approximately 14 days. In April of that year, I was in church for Palm Sunday mass, and acting on a hunch, I grabbed an extra handful of blessed palm as I headed out the door to my car. At home I cut off the flimsy ends of the palm and what I had left were rigid pieces of palm about 20 inches long. I cut those strips into pieces about 3 inches in length. I then used a magic marker to write in the names of 28 Marines and corpsman [who I personally knew who had died in Vietnam] with one name on each piece. In addition I wrote down the date of their deaths. I wrapped all 28 sections of palm in a plastic bag and included them with my gear for the trip.
The trip(s) up to 861 took place over a 3-day period and for the rest of this report, I’ll use Day 1, Day 2, and Day 3. The main focus of this paper is Day 3, but I need to cover the first two days as well.
Day 1 – up early for the departure to 861. We rode out past the old combat base in our rented van. Passengers – other than me - included KS vets Paul Knight (861) and his son Todd, Bob Arrotta (881s), Glenn Prentice (881s), Dave Kniess (my former student), Donna Elliott (searching for info on her MIA brother), and our Vietnamese translator. We stopped the van at a point where the trail to 861 looked promising. It seemed to be in the very area that Kilo had used back on December 26, 1967, to go to 861. We headed out under scattered clouds and spitting rain. It took almost four hours for the lead group (Glenn, Bob, Dave, and I) to get onto 861. The stragglers arrived within an hour of that, so that by noon all of us were on the hill. We pitched three tents near the old CP bunker, but the wind picked up and the rain really began to pelt us. I paid little attention to the weather as I had no trouble finding my old bunker! I spent over an hour cutting all the fresh growth away so I could expose the actual hole I lived in 33 years before. By mid-aft one of the tents had collapsed, one was leaking badly (my 20-year-old, two-man backpacking tent), and there was nothing to see or do. Half the group left for a return to the old combat base area and our primitive, government owned “guest house.” Dave, fearing for his very expensive video camera was one of those who left. I stayed, along with Bob and Glenn and our interpreter. The 4 of us spent a miserable night in a tent that really was designed for 2 or 3 at the most!
Day 2 In the morning of Day2, the weather was worse. The winds were a constant 50 to 60 mph and the cold rain was driven sideways across the top of the hill. Literally, one could not see beyond 15 feet. Leaving some food and supplies in the tent, we traced our steps back down to KS ville and arrived by noon. We were arrested for being on the hills without a permit and for camping overnight (a big No-No there), and the police took our passports! They said that we would have to pick them up in the late afternoon of day 3 in Dong Ha (26 miles away). After some discussions with the local cops, Bob and Glenn got permission to try to get to 881s on the morning of Day 3. He agreed to let them go if they signed the proper forms. [Our original intent was to sleep on 861 and then travel on foot over to 881s, sleep there, and then return to the village on the morning of Day 3.] I spoke up and asked for permission to go back to 861 in order to retrieve our one good tent. Forms were signed for Dave and me, and that night we packed up for a second return to 861.
Day3 Dave and I awoke at around 3:30 a.m. We had made arrangements for two local kids to give us rides on their motorbikes back to the spot where the trail to 861 left the old combat base road. It was raining fairly well but the wind had died down. In the dark, I lost track of Dave’s driver and their bike. 10 minutes later, I was at the trail junction but without Dave. [What I did not know (and would not know till late in the afternoon), was that Dave’s driver had stopped for gas, and Dave, sensing that the rain would be bad for his camera, directed the kid back to the guest house.] I waited for 15 minutes, paid the kid a dollar, strapped on my pack and turned for 861 alone. I had no trouble getting up there; in fact, with less weight and no tent to lug, it took just over three hours. I stopped only once – by a large tree on Hill 700 – for water and a granola bar. In some places, I could see the tracks and boot prints made by us going up 48 hours earlier and by some of us coming back down just 24 hours earlier. By 7:30 in the morning, I was on the LZ of 861 and I was totally alone! Amazingly, the rain stopped, and while the sun never came out, it was easy to see over to the other ridgelines. For the next 4 hours it was just me, the mist, the memories, and the history of the hill. I felt awfully privileged to be walking around a place of so much pain, blood, and sacrifice. The only sound to break the silence was an occasional bird chirp and my talking aloud. I walked the entire trench line, visited my old bunker again (where I had cut down all the vegetation two days earlier), and dug a bit in the dirt. I found an old C-rat spoon, some barbed wire, part of a USMC flak jacket, and the fin assembly of an NVA 82 mortar. I knew that I had to be off the hill by noontime because the van was going to leave KS (for Dong Ha) by 3:00 p.m., so when it was time to go, I thought of the blessed palms in my pocket. I lugged my gear (and the “new” stuff from the hill) down to the LZ. I returned to the top of the hill, and right between my bunker and the old CP bunker, I took out the palms. Speaking at the top of my voice, I said an Our Father and a Hail Mary. Then, one palm at a time, I read the name aloud and said, “May God have mercy on your soul.” As I let each piece go, the breeze caught them and sent them in various directions. After 28 names (and a few tears on my part), I returned to the LZ. As I bent over my pack to tighten things up for travel, I looked back to the top of the hill. I was stunned to see a group of figures – 15 to 20 – standing in a loose formation/group at the top of the hill. They had helmets and flak jackets and the wind moved their clothing and the ponchos that some of them were wearing! I blinked, looked away, looked back, and they were still there looking down at me. I started to cry and in a loud voice, I asked them to watch over my family and all my friends. No matter how many times I looked away, they continued to stand and look down. Finally, I picked up my pack, saluted the entire group, turned my back to them, crossed the LZ, and dropped off into the elephant grass below. I never looked back again.
Six years later: it has been over 4 years since that moment and I have not been the same person since. ( Dennis Mannion - Sept, 2004 )
Rosie the Riveter: A Brief Look at Women’s Roles in WWII
By C.S. Purcell
“This is not a time when women should be patient. We are in a war and we need to fight it with all our ability and every weapon possible.” - Eleanor Roosevelt, 1942
When you open the door to my library, you see the reproduction wartime posters of “Rosie the Riveter” and a Navy recruitment poster with a young girl in a sailor’s suit, saying, “Gee, I wish I were a man. I’d join the Navy.” I use these posters to deliberately set the tone of my room, of my attitude, because it is a place where I read, write and create. Rosie was strong, yet beautiful. The girl in the Navy poster wanted to be like her big brother who went forth proudly to serve. The women who served in wartime, in one way or another, have made it possible for my voice to be heard – and to be taken seriously.
We can think of women’s roles in many different wars, but World War II has a place in my heart. It was a time when our country overtly called for women to step forward and help this nation. And they did.
Before the United States entered World War II, several companies already had contracts with the government to produce war equipment for the Allies. Almost overnight the United States entered the war and war production had to increase dramatically in a short amount of time. Auto factories were converted to build airplanes, shipyards were expanded, and new factories were built, and all these facilities needed workers. But as companies were signing large, lucrative contracts with the government, our American men were leaving for war.
Who would fill their place? Women.
We know that women have always worked, especially minority and lower-class women. But the mindset of the country at the time placed white middle-class women in the home and men in the workforce. Even most women saw their place at home, caring for the children and tending to their husbands. Employers were used to men in their factories.
The United States government had to overcome these challenges in order to recruit women into the workforce. The government decided to launch a propaganda campaign to sell the importance of the war effort and to lure women into working. In this propaganda effort, Rosie the Riveter was born. She flexed her muscles and exclaimed, “We Can Do It!”
Millions of American women helped assemble bombs, build tanks, weld hulls and grease locomotives. More than 6 million women became war workers. Most were married and a third had children under 14. A popular song of the day praised "Rosie the Riveter" in verse: "That little frail can do/more than a male can do."
Money during the war was tight in many households, and the women, by working, had the opportunity to make wages. But on average, women war workers were paid only 60 percent of male wages. Many faced harassment and were judged by prevailing social attitudes.
While the image of the woman worker was important during the war, the prewar image of women as wives and mothers did not disappear. Mainstream society accepted temporary changes brought about by a war, but considered them undesirable on a permanent basis. Indeed, you cannot take the jobs permanently away from the men who were called to duty, although so many men never returned home. After the war, the cultural division of labor by sex reasserted itself. Employers forced many women who wanted to remain in the workforce back into lower-paying “female” jobs. Most women were laid off and told to go back to their homes.
To appease those opposed to women in the workforce, the government insisted that "Rosie the Riveter" was a temporary response to war. "A woman is a substitute," claimed a War Department brochure, "like plastic instead of metal."
Other homefront wartime jobs for women included recruiting, typing, and selling war bonds.
Although the famous image of Rosie the Riveter reminds us of women working here on American soil, women also joined the military, helping with a number of positions, including nursing, chemical lab assistants, photographic lab assistants, radio repair, cartography, modelmakers, field photographers… The military had developed its own propaganda posters for recruiting women. The Women’s Army Corps’ message was, "Woman’s place in war! The Army of the United States has 239 kinds of jobs for women."
And we can’t forget The Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) of World War Two, 1942-1944, who paved the way for women in the Airforce and other armed services. During World War II 1,078 young women pilots became an inspiration to women – to Americans. They were the first women in history trained to fly American military aircraft.
It was a big deal - women coming into the workforce in droves to fill the gaps left by enlisted or recruited male soldiers and women serving the armed forces in WWII. Today it is not unusual. Women enlist in the armed forces, are deployed to the warfront with men, and, yes, work in the factories that produce military equipment.
Whenever I look at my wartime reproduction posters, I think of how far we have come. We don’t need Rosie to remind women that “We can do it!” I laugh when I see the young girl pulling on her Navy suit, wishing she were a man. The Navy used a young girl to tell those not yet enlisted to “be a man.” Now, the Navy calls upon men and women alike. In the modern-day armed forces’ propaganda of TV commercials, there are women. In the news, we hear of our men and women who serve in Operation Enduring Freedom.
Women are no longer considered mere replacements. We are not plastic. We are part of the fabric – one stronger than metal – that holds this country together.
A Letter Home
Jan 18, 1944
Dear Brother,
Longtime for me to finally get around to expressing my appreciation for the Christmas packages, but believe me, it isn’t because I have already enjoyed them or that I haven’t been thinking and thanking you, but oh boy, you know how it is when you get into a writing slump.
Although I had a swell holiday and we had turkey and 2 cases of beer, the season kinda got me down a bit and as is the case with all here, the correspondence suffered. Now we seem to be back to normal and I am going to get on the ball and try to let people know how much I enjoyed everything.
19th
Well, I start lots of things around here, but also have plenty questions to answer, so that accounts for the many interruptions. It is now 3:30 and the gang is on fatigue, fixing paths, cutting brush, etc. Spent the morning on the range trying out new firing stunts with our mortars and they work swell and didn’t even get a sore hand. So we will go to work on it hammer and tongs, so that next time we’ll be able to throw everything but the sink at them before they know what’s happening.
The weather has been quite a bit cooler – when you sit in the shade, but probably because of so much rain. It hasn’t rained today yet and didn’t rain all last nite. First time in a couple weeks, and my blankets smell like toad stools – so must get those aired out. Tojo hasn’t bothered us with bombings but twice in a month, but not good definitely - but I can still tell when they’re coming close, so that’s all that counts.
A few more days till my birthday and believe me I am getting along. Sometimes feel as old as I am, but still can muck along with the rest of them. Have also been executive of the Battalion for quite a time and supposed to serve in this capacity for 3 months, before getting an advance to field grade. Hope by that time to get to New Zealand for a rest before the next bugle. I can sure stand putting an a few pounds so that I don’t rattle. This place is sure changed – Hope I can get some pictures of it and send them home. Flossy should receive a few that might be of interest.
Well must close and get to work for awhile. Thanks again for the packages and for remembering us.
Hope you are all well.
Love to all,
Don
Major Donald T. Robison served as Meriden’s Park Superintendent from 1938 until 1941 when the Connecticut National Guard in which he served as a second lieutenant was inducted into the war. Upon entering the Army he was promoted to first lieutenant and about a year later to Captain and placed in command of Company D from Meriden. He reached the rank of Major about two months after writing the letter transcribed above. On August 7th of the same year, the 34-year-old major was seriously wounded in action in New Guinea. He died six days later. A small monument is located at Hubbard Park honoring Major Robison’s service to Meriden and his ultimate sacrifice for our freedom.
Military Funeral Honors "Honoring Those Who Served"
The Department of Defense (DOD) is responsible for providing military funeral honors. "Honoring Those Who Served” is the title of the DOD program for providing dignified military funeral honors to veterans who have defended our nation.
Upon the family's request, Public Law 106-65 requires that every eligible veteran receive a military funeral honors ceremony, to include folding and presenting the United States burial flag and the playing of Taps. The law defines a military funeral honors detail as consisting of two or more uniformed military persons, with at least one being a member of the veteran's parent service of the armed forces. The DOD program calls for funeral home directors to request military funeral honors on behalf of the veterans' family. However, the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) National Cemetery Administration cemetery staff can also assist with arranging military funeral honors at VA national cemeteries. Veterans’ organizations may assist in providing military funeral honors. When military funeral honors at a national cemetery are desired, they are arranged prior to the committal service by the funeral home.
The Department of Defense began the implementation plan for providing military funeral honors for eligible veterans as enacted in Section 578 of Public Law 106-65 of the National Defense Authorization Act for FY 2000 on Jan. 1, 2000.
Questions or comments concerning the DOD military funeral honors program may be sent to the address listed below. The military funeral honors Web site is located at www.militaryfuneralhonors.osd.mil
Department of DefenseDirectorate for Public Inquiry and AnalysisRoom 3A750, The PentagonWashington, DC 20301-1400
To arrange military funeral honors, contact your local funeral home.
Burial Benefits – Burial Flags
Why does VA provide a Burial Flag?
The Veterans Benefits Administration (VBA) provides a U.S. flag at no cost, to drape the casket or accompany the urn of a deceased veteran who served honorably in the U. S. armed forces. It is furnished to honor the memory of a veteran’s military service to his or her country. Section 517 of Public Law 105-261 added eligibility for former members of the Selected Reserve.
Who is eligible to receive the Burial Flag?
Generally, the flag is given to the next-of-kin as a keepsake after its use during the funeral service. When there is no next-of-kin, VA will furnish the flag to a friend making a request for it. For those VA national cemeteries with an Avenue of Flags, families or friends of veterans buried in these national cemeteries may donate the burial flags of their loved ones to be flown on patriotic holidays.
How do I apply?
You may apply for the flag by completing VA Form 21-2008, Application for United States Flag for Burial Purposes . You may get a flag at any VA regional office or U.S. Post Office. Generally, the funeral director will help you. . When burial is in a national, state or military post cemetery a burial flag will be provided. To contact the VA regional office, call 1-800-827-1000.
Can a Burial Flag be replaced?
The law allows one flag for a veteran’s funeral. It cannot be replaced it if it is lost, destroyed, or stolen. However, some veterans’ organizations or other community groups may be able to help you get another flag.
How should the Burial Flag be displayed?
The proper way to display the flag depends upon whether the casket is open or closed. VA Form 21-2008 provides the correct method for displaying and folding the flag. The burial flag is not suitable for outside display because of its size and fabric. It is made of cotton and can easily be damaged by weather.
For More Information Call Toll-Free at 1-800-827-1000
Presidential Memorial Certificate
A Presidential Memorial Certificate (PMC) is an engraved paper certificate, signed by the current President, to honor the memory of honorably discharged deceased veterans.
History
This program was initiated in March 1962 by President John F. Kennedy and has been continued by all subsequent Presidents. Statutory authority for the program is Section 112, Title 38, of the United States Code.
Administration
The Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) administers the PMC program by preparing the certificates which bear the current President’s signature expressing the country’s grateful recognition of the veteran’s service in the United States Armed Forces.
Eligibility
Eligible recipients include the deceased veteran’s next-of-kin and loved ones. More than one certificate may be provided.
Application
Eligible recipients, or someone acting on their behalf, may apply for a PMC in person at any VA regional office or by U.S. mail only. Requests cannot be sent via email. There is no form to use when requesting a PMC. Please be sure to enclose a copy of the veteran's discharge and death certificate. Please submit copies only, as we cannot return original documents.
If you would like to request a Presidential Memorial Certificate, or if you requested one more than eight weeks ago and have not received it yet, either:
1. Fax your request and all supporting documents (copy of discharge and death certificate) to: (202) 565-8054, or
2. Mail your request and all supporting documents using either the U.S. Postal Service or a commercial mail service, such as one of the overnight or express mail delivery services, to:
Presidential Memorial Certificates (41A1C)Department of Veterans Affairs5109 Russell RoadQuantico, VA 22134-3903
If you have any questions about a certificate you have received, a request you have already sent in, or about the program in general, you may call (202) 565-4964. Or you may send an electronic inquiry to us by selecting the “Contact the VA” link below.
PLEASE NOTE: The above telephone number is for questions about the Presidential Memorial Certificate Program only.
Veteran Service Officers and Funeral Homes - Please contact us at (202) 565-4259 or (202) 501-2004 for information about submitting requests electronically.
We do not administer other VA programs or have access to other VA records. For assistance with other VA benefits or records please use the “Contact the VA” link below. Or call your regional office at:
1-800-827-1000
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